Chapter Text
I think you hide when all the world's asleep and tired. You cry a little, so do I, so do I.
I think you hide, and you don't have to tell me why. You cry a little, so do I, so do I.
- Hiding, Florence + the Machine
Carol Danvers is not sure if she like the Avengers compound very much.
With Stark and his wife permanently gone and the rest of the Avengers scattered to tend to their own various issues across the world, it is quiet, much too quiet, with only Rogers and Romanov left behind to inhabit the large, sprawling complex once bustling with life. There's a certain heaviness that lingers in the air and presses against her chest whenever she moves though the building - the memories of the people who had once worked here, and once lived here. People who are now dusted and gone.
She's spent most of her life travelling through deep space, hopping from planet to planet, travelling alone to whichever galaxy needed her help. She is used to the solitude that it brings, and used to finding comfort in the soft humming of the empty space around her, reassuring her that there's no one around her for miles, that's she's safe and alone.
She is not used to the haunting presence that lurks in the shadows of this building.
She doesn't like it – it makes her jumpy.
The clock continues ticking in the corner as she stares restlessly at the ceiling, her fist clenching around the thick cotton material of her blanket as she recalls the words, blinking accusingly at her from the screen of the meeting room below.
Maria Rambeau – Missing
Monica Rambeau – Missing
Nicholas Joseph Fury – Missing
Carol sits up, shoving the sheets off her with a heavy sigh. Sleep isn't going to come easy tonight – when she closes her eyes, she sees the faces of people she's sworn to protect and failed, people she's lost because she wasn't good enough.
Wasn't fast enough to stop Thanos in time.
The hardwood floor is cold against her feet when she stands up and she shivers at the unexpected chill, pushing the door open and slipping into the hallway. It is dark outside, and utterly silent, and she contemplates heading down to the kitchen and turning the TV on, if only to hear the sound of another human voice around this place.
If she's left alone to stew in her thoughts for one more second, she might go mad.
She turns to close her door and frowns. There’s a sliver of light shining from the room next to hers – Romanov’s room – with its door slightly ajar, and when she pauses and listens again, she can just make out the faintest murmur of a voice.
Some company is better than skulking in the kitchen alone, she decides, and nudges the door open slightly. There’s a quick rustling of papers, and she spots a hastily minimised laptop screen before Romanov turns to face her, raising her brow in askance.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Yeah,” she takes Romanov shoving her papers onto the table as a silent invitation, curling up on the couch next to her, and tucks her knees under her chin. “I just – I keep thinking about the ‘what-ifs’, you know?”
The other woman is silent, but her face softens with sympathy as she nods in understanding.
“What if I’d been here faster, what if I was around to help stop Thanos the first time…” She blows out a heavy sigh, running her hand through her hair. “Maybe I should have been here, stopped all of this from happening.”
“Hey, no – Danvers, it’s not your fault, okay?” Romanov reaches out to touch her knee briefly before pulling away. “You didn’t know.”
I should have, is the argument that rises to her lips. I should have been here, I should have kept a better eye on things, she wants to say, but the fierce look that Romanov shoots her quells her retort at once. She closes her mouth, and could’ve sworn that she sees the other woman’s lips twitch slightly, as though in satisfaction.
There’s a short lull in conversation as she watches Romanov power down her laptop before tossing it on top of her papers; Carol winces, both at the dull thunk it makes and at the pang of guilt that pricks at her.
“I’m sorry, did I – were you busy?” She makes to leave, but Romanov shakes her head, waving at her to sit.
“Couldn’t sleep, either.”
And Carol doesn’t know what to say, because “I’m sorry” or “I understand” doesn’t seem to quite cut it after the magnitude of loss they’d gone through – half the universe turned to dust, Fury gone, friends and family lost, and a world paralysed by fear and grief and anger because they weren’t good enough. She’d seen the online forums and the picket lines that had formed outside the compound with her own eyes, protesting, demanding to know why and how the Avengers had failed so badly, and she looks at Romanov, wonders how she puts up with it so silently.
“You know what? We need a drink.”
She’s shaken out of her quiet contemplation when Romanov leaves abruptly, before returning with a bottle that she uncorks with a quiet pop.
“I can’t get drunk,” she reminds the other Avenger, but takes the proffered bottle anyway, taking a huge swig –
And chokes.
The liquid burns its way down her throat and into her stomach, warming her in a way that she’s not experienced for a very long time.
“Asgardian spirits,” Romanov explains as she takes a more cautious sip, and then another, and it doesn’t take long before they're both pleasantly buzzed, and Carol's being thoroughly entertained by stories of some of the Avengers' past exploits.
"Natasha Romanov," she hears herself say when she finally wrestles her mouth under control again, and Romanov lolls her head to the right to look at her.
"That's my name, don't wear it out."
"Smart-ass," she sticks out her tongue, only to get an eye-roll in return. "Look, if we're going to be working together - "
She sticks her hand out, waving it in Romanov's face when she doesn't move, and Romanov, looking thoroughly nonplussed, slowly takes it.
"Hi, I'm Carol Susan Jane Danvers, but you should call me Carol. Not Danvers, not Susan, not Jane, just Carol."
And she's gratified when Romanov returns the shake, her lips twitching in amusement.
"Hi, Carol. Call me Natasha."
Natasha. That's a pretty name, she decides hazily, reaching out for the bottle again, and nearly falling out of her seat as she does so. It suits her.
And then - wow, this wine is strong.
(She doesn't remember anything beyond this moment the next morning.)